The old debate around disability and comedy rears its oddly shaped head every few months when some comedian or other tells a dubious disability-related joke that hits the headlines – think Jimmy Carr's gag about injured British soldiers boosting the Paralympic team or Ricky Gervais's recent "mong" debacle. The moral majority are offended, a public outcry follows, and disabled comedians are literally wheeled out to tackle the question of whether or not we can laugh at disability.

I am one such comedian. They like to ask me because I'm reliably opinionated; I will say that I believe in freedom of speech and that in the right context, I think you can joke about anything. I'll talk about the increasing numbers of disabled comedians who can and do make jokes about disability and the able-bodied performers I've also heard tell some brilliantly incisive jokes on the subject. And I'll finish by saying that I think the Paralympics can teach us a lot about disability and comedy.

With more than 150 hours of programming promised from official Paralympic broadcaster Channel 4, there will be more disabled people on our TV screens during that 12-day period than for the past 12 years. We'll be offered a buffet of weirdly wonderful bodies, unfathomable sports and an athlete classification system that even superbrain Stephen Hawking would struggle to understand. That equates to 150 hours of comedy potential. Tune in to "sitting volleyball", for instance, where, before the game begins, an official will come around with a trolley and players will toss in their artificial limbs, and where one of the referee's jobs is to make sure competitors keep one buttock on the court at all times. I'm no fan of sports but I'd watch that. Maybe I'd laugh and if I did, I don't think I'd be diminishing the achievements of those athletes. Instead, I'd be sharing the humour of what is undeniably a funny situation.

How about wheelchair fencing, where the competitors' chairs are fixed to the ground, unable to move? Then there's wheelchair rugby, immortalised in the Oscar-nominated film Murderball. a sport where, if a player is flung on to the floor, they may have to remain there until there's a break in the game. And, as for watching the commentators struggle to find the words to describe all this? That's pure comedy. Fifty best Paralympic Colemanballs? I'll be watching and laughing. I hope I won't be the only one.

The coverage will provide a challenge to the great British viewing public. When the disabled and able-bodied worlds collide in normal life, many are unsure how to act and what to say. So how will people respond to the Paralympics? With a sense of awe and pride, or perhaps at times with pity or even embarrassment? Should they stare, should they wonder, should they laugh?

This audience dilemma is something disabled comedians face every time they take to the stage. I'm a frail-looking wheelchair-using standup, and the audience are stunned when I take the mic. In the seconds between wheeling on to the stage and beginning my set, the fear in the room is palpable. You can practically hear the gasps, whispers and unspoken thoughts. "What if she's not funny – do we have to laugh? She doesn't look like she'll survive the next 10 minutes! I didn't realise it's charity night. Is she just going to drone on about disability and depress me? Will I go to hell if I laugh? Is this a joke?."

And that's why I love being a disabled comedian – because I can play with all those fears and expectations and then confound them. As soon as I open my mouth and political comment, bawdiness and silliness ensues, much of that tension dissipates. I draw people into my world, one informed by all my experiences, including the often surreal situations you find yourself in as a disabled person. Sometimes people will raise a hand to their mouth in shock at something I've said. Sometimes people will laugh and berate themselves in equal measure. But when people laugh because something is funny rather than out of obligation, pity or politeness, then you know it's been a good gig.

So, while we sit and applaud the superhuman feats and hard-earned successes of the Paralympics, let's also make sure we have a well-deserved giggle at the trolley man, the potentially uneventful fencing event and those commentators guilty of putting a prosthetic foot in their mouths. The Games will be amazing, but they'll also be bloody funny – so laugh – not cruelly at the athletes but instead at the ridiculousness of the rules or the Games or the gaffes.